


ocean blues

by nightmaresinwintah



Category: Marvel
Genre: Bucky was still the Winter Soldier, I genuinely don't know, M/M, Meet-Cute, Post TWS, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve was never Captain America, but also...not?, so yeah everything is the same except stevie wasn't cap and wasn't born when buckman was, sort of, sort of sticks to the storyline of CW, uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7928944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmaresinwintah/pseuds/nightmaresinwintah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky’s cold, Steve has a fireplace and everything is HYDRA’s fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ocean blues

Bucky’s used to the cold - he can’t  _ remember  _ a time where he wasn’t shivering or gritting his teeth at it. It’s all he’s known for years upon years. His first life was ended there - spinning through icy air and then nestled in the freezing red snow. He was born into the second one screaming, before he was shoved into a freezer with a cold metal limb attached to him. He crashed through open, debris-filled air and into the chilling waters of the Potomac as a dramatic way to start his third one.  So yeah, he’s used to the cold. And he  _ hates  _ it. 

Thing is, he can’t seem to shake it.

It’s settled right down deep into his bones. Even now, he’s shivering. Sure, the heater in this apartment it shot to hell but he’s not about to go hunt down the landlord and demand him to fix it. The shitty threadbare blanket he’s got himself wrapped in isn’t helping either, or the window that he can never get to shut fully. The room - kitchen, dining, bathroom and bedroom all wrapped into one - will probably never be  _ warm _ , but he shouldn’t be  _ freezing.  _

He’s lived through winters in Russia with nothing but a concrete floor and concrete walls to keep him company, so this shouldn’t really be affecting him this much. But it is. Bucharest isn’t even all that cold - and it’s spring. 

But he’s here on his mattress, wrapped in his blanket, and shivering his damn skin off. Feels like he’s gonna break his damn bones, at this rate. He’s trying to keep his metal arm away from his torso - he’s got it on the outside of the blanket - and has the rest of his limbs tucked up tight to his core. He has three jerseys on (which incidentally is how many he owns) and all of his socks (four pairs) but he’s still so. Damn. Cold. 

Walking sometimes helps - gets his blood moving - but it’s the middle of the night. He can’t sleep. He’s just lying here shivering like a fool and cursing HYDRA because everything is their fault. Absolutely everything - from his jumbled up brain to when tripped over an untied shoelace the other day. 

Speaking (thinking?) of HYDRA, he’s been blessedly free of them for two years now. It’s great, it really is. He has bills to pay and a head to sort out and he’s constantly running from several governments. It sounds like he’s joking - he’s a real sarcastic guy he’s found out, a real laugh when he wants to be - but he’s not. He’d take this over murder and that damn  _ Chair  _ any day. 

Two years ago he’d been on his ‘last’ mission, guarding the three Helicarriers as they were launched. Turns out, he’s not been the Winter Soldier his whole life and when his programming was broken he had something to fall back on. The breaking of the programming - he’s still not too sure  _ how  _ it happened, apart from the whole HYDRA’s completely gone now thing. The Avengers had finally cauterised all the poisonous heads. And thank fuck for that. 

He’d been minding his own damn business when  _ hello  _ whiplash, I’m suddenly cartwheeling through the goddamn air and into the water below. Later, when he’d dragged his sorry dripping ass out of the Potomac and found a towel and a TV, he’d been able to make sense of what had happened. His programming had been connected to his current Handler - if Pierce died, so did his programming. And Pierce had been shot. By the Widow, no less. (He still owed her some flowers or new knives or something.)

So, with HYDRA being taken care of, he’d taken to the wind and disappeared. Two years later, he’s here. Shivering on a mattress on the floor of his apartment. 

Fuck it. Middle of the night or not, his mind is going a million miles an hour. He’s going for a walk.

Bucky hauls ass and throws the blanket off, grumbling under his breath to himself and grabbing his boots. He locks the apartment behind him as he leaves, pulling his hood up and hunching his shoulders against the cutting air. He trudges down the stairs, glaring at each elevator door as he passes the levels. Heating, elevator, windows - what the hell else did this building have that was crap? 

The air outside is probably colder than in his apartment. He tries to ignore it and sets off at a brisk pace, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He flows with the shadows without realising it - stepping around the circles of yellow on the pavement and weaving through the cover of the night. He’s so engrossed at complaining about the inconveniences of his life that he nearly walks right past the fight going on in the alley to his left. 

As it is, he bypasses it completely before his ears catch onto the obvious sounds of someone getting hit. He backtracks and narrows his eyes at what he sees - a broad-shouldered man leering over a smaller form crumpled on the ground. Bucky never figured that he, the Winter Soldier, the Asset, feared by all men, had a savior complex. Huh. The things you learn. 

He strides into the alley, feeling every one of those sleepless nights dragging behind him like weights and takes the larger man by the hood, yanking him back. The guy goes stumbling - oops, the metal arm is  _ strong -  _ and sprawls backward, barely catching himself. He straights up and stares right at Bucky, clearly shocked. 

Bucky watches with vague fascination as the guy’s face morphs from shock to indignation to snickering fury. The guy comes in for a swipe at Bucky - his stance is all wrong, and his footing is set so all Bucky has to do is step to the side as the guy lunges, and he goes stumbling to the ground. Bucky has to bite his lip to stop from laughing. 

The guy gets up again, and honest to god goes in for another punch. Bucky catches it effortlessly, and narrows his eyes at him, before pulling back his flesh hand (he’s not  _ heartless)  _ and smashes it right into the guy’s nose. Clutching at his bloodied face, the guy scatters. Bucky wants to smirk, but he’s also distracted by the movement on the ground. 

Oh god the crumpled form is a  _ man.  _ Bucky pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and hisses real low. “Ouch, are you alright?” he asks, before realising the dude probably speaks Romanian. 

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” the guy snaps, wiping at the blood trickling out of the side of his mouth. 

Never mind then. American. Bucky shrugs, offering a hand. The guy narrows his eyes up at him before taking it and getting up. And. Okay. There’s only a dim light but Bucky’s always been good at seeing in the dark and he can damn well see how  _ attractive  _ this guy is. Even with a swollen eye and a cracked lip and a nose that looks like it’s been broken a time or two. 

“Uh, sure man, if you say so. The hell started that, anyways?” Bucky takes the guy’s attention on him to study the colour of his eyes. 

The guy looks away. “He wanted my bag, and when it didn’t have anything of value in it, he decided to try and beat the crap out of me.”

Try. Mhm, buddy. “What an asshole,” Bucky hums and looks around them, pinpointing the bag, contents strewn across the gritty alley. 

“Yeah, well, there’s a bunch of ‘em out there,” the guy sighs. His chest rattles as he does it. 

Bucky squints at him before moving to start picking up his stuff. “What were you doing out at this time of night, anyways?” he asks. 

“None of your business. I could ask the same of you.” Jeez, he’s a prickly bastard. (In a cute way.)

Bucky shrugs and hands him some of the books he’s picked up. The guys crouches down beside him to grab the rest of his stuff, including an inhaler he takes a quick puff from. “Couldn’t sleep. Too cold.” Too fucked up. 

“So you went for a  _ walk?”  _ the guy snorts, slinging his back over one shoulder. 

Bucky stands up as the guy does, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind one ear. The guy’s eyes follow the movement, frowning at the sight of the glinting metal. Bucky puts his hand back in his pocket in a hurry. “Yeah. Gets the blood flowing.” 

“Right,” the guy drawls. “Well, thanks, I guess. I should get going.”

Bucky finds himself wanting to prolong this accidental meeting. “Um. Where’re you headed? We could walk together,” he offers. 

The guy raises an eyebrow at him as he starts leaving the alley. “About ten minutes from here. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mind,” Bucky says. 

The guy sighs again, like he gets this too often. “Seriously. Look, I get that you’re tryna be nice or whatever, but I’ll be fine. I make the walk every night.” Bucky just looks at him. “Okay, it doesn’t look like it, but that doesn’t happen often.” Bucky looks harder. Often? “That was the first time this month!”

“It’s only the eighth,” Bucky counters. 

The guys shrugs. Bucky walks with him in the direction that must be where the guy lives. Silence falls over them, and Bucky finds himself searching every shadow they come across. He’s still shivering, and he’s had to start clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. 

“I’m Steve, by the way,” the guy suddenly speaks up.

Bucky had been so focused on watching their surroundings he nearly leaps out of his skin. He managed to keep up the pretense that he’s normal, and looks over at Steve. “Bucky,” he replies. 

“ _ Bucky?”  _ Steve huffs out a laugh. 

Bucky narrows his eyes. “It’s a nickname,” he protests. As was the Winter Soldier. He wonders if Steve’s heard of him before. (Probably has, if he’s American. The Winter Soldier was all over the news for months. They hadn’t figured out who he was, and there was no images of him without his mask.)

“Right, right,” Steve snickers. “Well, we’re at my place.”

They’ve stopped outside a quaint almost  _ cottage  _ that looks like it belongs to a nice, cookie-baking grandmother. Bucky doesn’t say anything. There’s probably a story behind it. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Steve.”

Steve gives him a  _ look.  _ “Uh-huh. You too, Bucky.”

Bucky’s body decides that now’s a great time to get extra extra cold, and he gives a full body shiver that has him almost keeling over. He squeezes his eyes shut to get himself under control, and then straightens up, lips pressed together in a thin line. He mock-salutes with his flesh hand, and steps back to leg it out of here before he makes even more of a fool of himself. 

“Do you want to come in for a hot drink, or something? You seem...cold,” Steve offers, incredible blue eyes soft with concern. 

Bucky curses all that HYDRA is. Everything bad is their fault. “Please,” he finds himself replying to Steve. 

So that’s how he ends up sitting at a dining table with a warm cup of hot chocolate. (“It’s too late for coffee, Bucky.” “It’s literally one in the morning. If anything it’s too early.” “You’re having hot chocolate.”) The cup heats his hands up and it’s  _ wonderful.  _ He sips happily at the drink while observing each and every stain and dent in the top of the table. It’s riddled with them and has clearly seen some particularly rough days. 

Steve is sitting across from him, nursing his own cup. In the light of the dining room, Bucky can see clearly just how handsome Steve actually is. His hair looks soft, and it’s a dusty blond. His face is narrow but somehow  _ round  _ and soft, despite his sharp cheekbones. His eyelashes brush his damn eyebrows when he looks up, and those eyes are insane _.  _ Hell, Bucky wouldn’t mind being a little closer so he could count those freckles. 

“So you, uh, feelin’ better now?” Steve asks. 

Bucky jolts from where he’s been quietly drifting in thought and nods. “Yeah, thanks. Been a bit cold, lately.” Lately. Try the past  _ seventy years.  _

“It’s spring,” Steve deadpans. 

“My apartment window doesn’t shut properly.” There’s possibly cracks in the floorboards, too. He hasn’t checked yet, but he can feel the draft. 

Steve rolls his eyes and stands up, taking his cup with him and heading towards the lounge. Bucky trails after him, eyes catching on every detail in the room. And - oh. There’s a  _ fireplace.  _ Steve’s currently flicking a lighter to catch the fire starter. (Genius invention, honestly, so much easier than flint.) 

“You have a fireplace?” Bucky asks, stupidly, because of course he does. He should’ve noticed the chimney. 

Steve doesn’t bother answering, just sits back and watches the fire start to roar. He closes the door and stands up, heading over to the couch. “You’ll be alright walking back when you’re finished your drink?” 

Bucky feels cold again, suddenly, deep in the pit of his stomach. He bites back the shiver, and looks down at his feet. “Yeah, I’ll be good,” he says, and then grins, moving over to the fire. He settles down in front of it, refraining from moaning at how  _ good it feels.  _ It’s so warm. 

Steve’s watching him with something like amusement dancing in his eyes and Bucky sticks his tongue out at him. This is - weird. He’s a friendly kind of guy in this third life, if a little paranoid. He’s a mix of James Barnes and the Winter Soldier. It’s strange interacting with one person for this long - and now he’s in some guy’s house. But Steve - Steve is wonderful. 

Bucky can’t kill that little voice in the back of his head quick enough. (How would he react if he knew who you were? What you’d  _ done? _ ) (Shut _ up.) _

“You sure? You look about ready to fall asleep,” Steve says. 

Bucky forces his eyes open and sits up. “I’m - yeah fine. I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for the drink,” he says, smiling.

Steve just shrugs, smiling himself, and stands up to walk Bucky out. The air outside is  _ freezing.  _ Steve waves Bucky off, and Bucky can feel that little ball of warmth he’d had escaping. The door shuts, and he’s shivering again. 

The walk home is one full of shuddering cold and hunched shoulders. 

*

It’s just his luck that the next day he runs out of fruit. He doesn’t wake up - hasn’t been to sleep - but he stands up from his mattress and moves over to the fruit bowl for breakfast. There’s nothing there. He casts his eyes to the heavens and takes a deep breath before grabbing his jacket and some cash. 

He heads out with gloves on his hands and the sun on his shoulders. The markets are teeming with people, making his skin itch, but he smiles warmly at the lady at the plum stall. When he’s got his fruit, he turns to head back, but something catches his eye. There’s a man watching him from a newspaper stand, horror in his eyes. 

The man legs it. Bucky frowns, something replacing the cold in his veins. As he reads the newspaper article, he recognises it as dread. He too legs it. He reaches his apartment in record time, jumping from banister to banister to make his way up the levels quicker. He smashes the floorboards of his apartment and drags out the backpack, clipping it securely to his body. He has time to grab the spare bag and fill it with the things he’s got strewn about the apartment - notebooks, some granola bars, other things that prove it was him living here. 

He takes a moment he doesn’t have to breathe, and look around the apartment - it’s shitty, but it was  _ his.  _ And now they’ve somehow figured out who he is and simultaneously pinned a UN bombing on him. He can hear the police yelling as they race up the stairs. He feels an ache in his gut and wishes he had more time, but then he’s crashing out of the crappy window and running.

He doesn’t know where he’s running too till he gets there. He’s true to his title as a ghost as he finds himself standing in the middle of Steve’s lounge, staring around himself in shock. He shouldn’t have come here. He’s pretty sure they won’t be able to follow him - even in his rush he was careful - but if they  _ do,  _ then Steve’s in big trouble. 

The man in question stumbles out of his bedroom rubbing at his eyes moments later, looking confused. He leaps about half a mile when he sees Bucky. “What the fuck?” he asks, sleep lacing his voice. 

He looks deliciously rumpled, but Bucky’s on the verge of a breakdown and this isn’t the time to be fanning himself over boys. “I’m sorry I just had nowhere else to go and -”

“Buck, what happened? You look like shit,” Steve interrupts, frowning at him. He only looks vaguely disturbed to find Bucky standing in his lounge holding all of his important belongings. 

Bucky huffs out a laugh, ducking his head. “It’s a long,  _ long  _ story, and all of it is HYDRA’s fault,” he admits. 

Steve goes pale, but grabs a sweater and tugs it on, settling down on the couch. “I have time. Evening shift,” he explains. 

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, and drops his bags to the ground. “Basically, I used to be the Winter Soldier,” he starts and follows up with a long, cold story. 

*

Steve’s quiet for a long, long time afterwards. Bucky’s tucked right up at the other end of the couch, knees drawn up to his chest. When Steve eventually moves, he just stands up and walks out of the lounge. Bucky hears him on the phone, but doesn’t listen in to hear what he says. Bucky just squeezes his eyes shut and hopes nothing happens to Steve because of him. 

Steve comes back and Bucky’s on the verge of hysteria again, imagining everything that’s going to happen. Oh, fuck, what if HYDRA’s somehow still  _ out there  _ what if they’re not but he gets turned into a weapon again anyways what if they just - 

“Bucky?”

Bucky blinks his eyes open and stares up at Steve. He finds himself shivering again. Steve’s eyes are soft. “I’m sorry for coming here. I hope they don’t do anything to you - you called them, so I guess they know you’re on their side -”

“Bucky, I didn’t call the cops. I called my boss and told her I couldn’t make it in tonight,” Steve says. 

“What?” That makes no sense. 

Steve sighs, sitting down. “I’m not dobbing you in, Bucky. You said it yourself - you’re not what they made you.”

There’s a lump in Bucky’s throat. “What?” he asks again. 

Steve rolls his eyes and scoots closer, ignoring Bucky’s flinch. Stupid, stupid muscle memory. Fuck you, HYDRA. “You can lay low here, okay?” Steve says. 

Bucky’s mouth falls open. “You’re insane,” he tells Steve, because he  _ is.  _ Bunking with the Winter Soldier? The fuck?

“I’ve been told that. Look - you’re shivering again. I’m lighting the fire,” Steve says, moving to do that. 

Bucky watches almost hollowly as the fire starts going, but then he’s gravitating towards it and settling down in front of it. He huffs out a sigh, exhausted. Steve stays beside him, not watching him, simply staying as a presence. Slowly, Bucky feels the snow seeping out of him in avalanches and endless waves of icy water. Slowly, he realises he’s  _ warm,  _ sitting here beside Steve and his fire. 

He’s not going to cry. He’s  _ not.  _

It’s just emotional, okay? He feels drained, which is understandable. He lets himself lay down, finally crumbling under the weight he’s been carrying. So what if he curls up and passes the hell out? Even with imminent threat of the manhunt for him, he feels safe.

*

He supposes he should disappear, take to the wind. But when he wakes up, Steve’s fingers are dragging through his hair, and he’s warm. His eyes open to the sight of ocean blue eyes watching him. He smiles, if a little unsure. Steve smiles back, and Bucky’s heart thumps in his chest, catching him by surprise. 

“Sorry for crashing out,” he croaks. 

Steve shrugs, nails scratching against Bucky’s scalp. Bucky’s toes curl and his eyes flutter shut again. Little huffs of laughter come from Steve. “You really like this, huh? You’re like a damn cat.”

“Shut it, punk,” Bucky mumbles half-heartedly. 

It’s silent for a little while, but Steve speaks up again. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. I don’t mind,” he says. 

“Even after all I told you?” Bucky asks quietly. 

Steve nods, smiling down at him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky swallows dryly and can’t help shutting his eyes against the sun that is Steve. “I know, but I still did it,” he whispers. Steve goes quiet again, but it’s not a heavy silence. It’s just...warm. Bucky’s warm. “Thank you, Steve.”

  
Steve hums and slowly, Bucky gets lulled back to sleep, revelling in the safety and warmth. He reckons everything’s gonna be alright. 


End file.
